Mars
by theleonhearted
Summary: She's a different planet, and she knows he'll follow. {Enoshima Junko/Komaeda Nagito}


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dangan Ronpa, and that is definitely for the best.

**Notes:** This can be considered dub-con depending on how you look at it, so please proceed carefully. Also, there are spoilers, so read at your own risk.

I wrote a loooong explanation on my feelings toward this pairing; if you want to, you can read them at the AO3 link to this fic: /works/1022927

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They meet as they always do: clashing, trapped in an enclosed space with her hands under his shirt and her voice in his ears.

"Enoshima-san," he says, broken and high and worshipful. It's too much to hope for anything else, and Enoshima grins with delight.

"Now, now. Didn't I say you don't have to be so formal, Nagito-kun?" the gyaru chirps her disdain, waggling a crimson-tipped finger. Komaeda watches intently as she giggles at her own private joke before adopting a melancholy expression. "Oh, how highly you must think of me... to address me like that, even though we're such _good_ friends."

"Forgive me, Enoshima-san." Komaeda licks his lips and resumes running his hands over her body, careful and precise; he drags the palms along every contour, tracing the yokes of her shoulders, her smooth stomach, her breasts. Always too slow. She corrals him quickly enough, fierce little nails crawling up his body faster and faster until they are molded together, the whole of her body against his.

She pushes his spine into the wall. They've made use of the empty classroom before, tucked away in a far-off corner of the school and bereft of any student activity. Even _her_ Komaeda finds solace in calm places, where the air is thick enough to taste on the lips and where voices can't follow. The musk of chalk and unused desks disturbs her nose, but she sighs when Komaeda curls against her quietly and slowly, like ropes, like power.

She thinks of power, looking into his thin and hungry face; thinks of how Komaeda Nagito looks at her like the rest of that group, with adoring eyes and wicked mouths - the picture of despair. The thought of it stirs her body, deep-running shivers that prick her skin like Komaeda's ragged nails. Suddenly the pain isn't enough, and she sneers and raises her hand and scrapes three long red lines into his white-white scalp. "Nagito-kun," she giggles softly, "you can do better than _this_, can't you-?"

He kisses her then, his mouth sharp, his tongue inside; and it's a kiss that silences their breathing, leaves them both clutching and scratching and grasping at nothing at all. Kissing Komaeda is like kissing clouds, air-soft and wet and just uncomfortable enough to be pleasurable. The ghost of his lips linger like a stain, even after they break.

"Say it to me," she whispers suddenly, bringing her tongue over the shell of his ear. "Say those words that I like so much." Komaeda shivers, his voice shaking a little as he tries to protest. "Say them."

"I hate you. I do hate you so much..."

Enoshima lets out a noise, a breathy keening sound, and hooks a leg up around the boy's bony hip. He gasps when she sinks her hand down and takes him in one hand, and she lets the electric vice of her nails sing into him because he's despairingly beautiful when he thrashes so hopelessly. Komaeda draws his hand under and down her skirt, clumsily working over the fastenings, drawing the tips of his fingers across, again and again. "I don't hate you, Enoshima-san," he says softly, as if to atone for the previous words. His fingers curl into the band of her panties, achingly slowly, and she moans. "Truthfully, I -"

"Stop going so _slow_," she hisses, and he closes his eyes when her nails scrape across his thin shoulders, snake to his throat and tap against his cheek.

"I want to savor you," he breathes, a rushed intake of air; but still he lets one finger slide against her, wet, slow and slow until the tip slicks inside - a sharp burn. "Beautiful... Enoshima-san is so beautiful."

She quickens her pace, and her presence strikes them both, wraps them in blazing gold-white; she draws out his strained sighs like beads on a string, cranes her neck to his shoulders and nips at his wasting body - and oh, she knows just how it's wasted - with savage teeth. He rolls his thumb over her clit, scratches just hard enough to force her eyes closed.

When Enoshima opens her eyes and pulls back, Komaeda's face looks like the end of the world.

The end always comes at the peak of despair. Komaeda's neck arches, his cheeks drawn in sharp with the pain-pleasure of her movements, and he comes with a kind of breathless song, sighing into her hair. She pulls him back into her, commands him with a wordless glare - and he slinks down, wraithlike, bringing his tongue swiftly between her legs.

Enoshima can see despair in his face, coiled into the swirls of his clouded eyes, perched on the corners of his delicate mouth. She can see the traces of Komaeda Nagito, a sickly boy who had loved hope more than anything else in the world, who now peers up at her reverently as he pleasures her with his tongue and lips and teeth. She writhes, and it only takes another moment - another press of his tongue inside her - and she comes apart, laughing and shaking without realizing.

Her laughter startles Komaeda, and when Enoshima opens her eyes again he's slumped against her body like a wilted flower, his lips forming shapes that she can't read. She blinks twice, hazed. The bones of his hips bite into her stomach.

"You're the Despair," he whispers, over and over, into her neck. A litany, freshly retrieved from a long-wasting memory. She flinches. "Ah, I remember... to let someone like you destroy hope... I promised I'd fight that end, no matter what it took."

"Oh, Nagito-kun," she croons. It's only slightly too hasty. "Your pathetic attempts to cling to hope... it's so despairing. Cute~!" she appends, and her face lights up: a pristine sculpture. She pulls away from him. A moment, and her hair is smoothed like it's nothing at all, her skirt righted, lips pursed in a perfect little pout. He stares when she turns back.

There's something like memory in the reflection of her eyes in his, a candy-sweet twinkle; and he can hear the words, can feel the world shatter like wrists and violins and so many stars - knives, fire, men in masks and a single vision of chaos. _I'll take you as my enemy. _A promise, lost in time.

_Such a hopeful world as this... it will never fall into despair._

But Enoshima Junko is a different planet.

_If this despair is what it takes... for the sake of hope, then -_

She's a different planet, and she knows he'll follow.

"I do... hate you," whispers Komaeda Nagito, and neither of them hears the words.

Enoshima gives him a devastating smile, one that starts with the white points of her teeth in her mouth and goes everywhere at once. She makes sure it's the most hopeless thing Komaeda has ever seen.


End file.
